


Take Your Breath Away

by HazelDomain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Bottom Sam Winchester, Breathplay, Demon Dean, Drowning, Fights, Forced Orgasm, Hair-pulling, Injury, M/M, Manhandling, Pain, Painful Sex, Rape, Sibling Incest, Top Dean Winchester, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelDomain/pseuds/HazelDomain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill:  Demon!Dean gets the best of Sam, drags him to the MoL locker room and fucks him against one of the big old clawfoot bathtubs, shoving his head beneath the water and getting off on the struggle, the way it makes Sam clench and fight and tremble as he grows weaker.    </p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Your Breath Away

 

Sam slashed at him with the knife; Dean batted it away easily. His little brother’s heart wasn’t into it. He was really hoping he could get out of this without Dean ending up dead, and that was his weakness, because Dean honestly didn’t give a shit either way.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t have some plans for little bro, once he caught him.

Sam raised the knife, awkward with only one good arm. He was telegraphing so bad Dean wondered whether he was doing it on purpose. He slashed again and Dean didn’t even bother to dodge, just caught his wrist and twisted it, applying pressure until Sam dropped the weapon.

Sam pulled out of his grasp, his position defensive now. His eyes flicked to the knife on the ground and Dean didn’t even bother going for it first, just stepped forward and slapped Sam across the face.

Sam took a step back, reeling from the blow, and when he looked back at Dean he just looked _betrayed_ and _damn_ if that didn’t make Dean pop a boner. Little Sammy, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, looking up at him like his pretty puppy eyes were gonna save him this time.

Sam licked the blood off his lip and if there had been any doubt in Dean’s mind, it was gone now. Little brother was getting fucked, that’s all there was to it.

Sam lunged for the knife and Dean caught him by the collar of his jacket and hauled him back. With one arm he pinned Sam’s good arm to his body, and with the other he reached up and dug his fingers into Sam’s hair. He held tight, yanking backwards, forcing Sam to arch his back.

“Ow, what the _hell-_ ”

Sam’s protest cut off when Dean ground his hips forward, pushing his hardon up into Sam’s overdressed ass.

“Dean, what are you doing,” Sam said evenly, and Dean recognized that voice, the let’s-be-reasonable voice, the this-hasn’t-gone-sideways-yet voice, the one Sam used when he sensed danger and thought maybe he could talk his way out of it.

“Whatever I want, Sam. Whatever I want.”   
“You’re almost cured-” Sam started to say, but Dean cut him off, letting go of his hair in favor of shoving a couple fingers in his mouth.

Sam choked and then bit him, hard. Dean felt teeth grinding against bone and closed his eyes, savoring.

Pain felt _different,_ when you were a demon. Not _good,_ exactly. But not bad, either.

Mostly, he was ignoring the pain and focusing on the way blood was filling Sam’s mouth, the way he tried to spit it out and couldn’t, because Dean’s fingers were still hooked hard around his cheek.

The skin was healing already, Dean raised his hand to watch it, the way the skin knit quickly back together. The blood stayed, and Dean frowned at it and then shrugged, wiping it in a big red smear across the bottom of Sam’s face.

“You’re a mess, little brother,” he murmured in Sam’s ear and Sam never got a chance to respond because Dean brought his knee up, hard, driving it straight into Sam’s balls.

Sam went down like a stone, momentarily unable to even breathe. Dean looked him over, crinkling his nose. Blood had run down his face and splattered over his jacket, his shirt, even his jeans. Gross.

Dean bent over, retrieving the demon knife and slipping it easily into his belt. He considered Sam’s gasping figure for another second, then grabbed a fistful of hair and began dragging him down the hall.

Sam struggled for just a second before realizing that he was making it worse. His good hand closed around Dean’s wrist, not fighting, just trying to get some of the pressure off.

“This is why I’ve been telling you to cut your hair,” Dean explained as he made his way toward the bathroom. “Haven’t I been telling you to cut your hair since _forever_? And now look.”

He kicked the door open and dropped Sam unceremoniously on the tiles. Sam rose as far as his hands and knees and was given a boot in the ribs for his effort.

“I’d cut it off but I feel like it’s gonna come in handy, here in a second,” Dean continued, crossing to the clawfoot tub and turning both the handles full-wide. The aging piped coughed and then spewed water across the porcelain. Dean cast around for a plug and didn’t find one.

He drew the knife and walked back to Sam’s semi-limp form. He pressed a boot against his bad shoulder, drawing a pained groan out of the younger man as he was rolled onto his stomach. Dean crouched down and slid the blade up the back of his shirt, rending jacket, flannel, and cotton in half. He tore off a strip, wadded it up, and shoved it into the bathtub’s drain.

It held.

“Ha! Look at that.” He looked back at Sam with a grin. Sam glowered and tried to climb to his feet again. Dean sighed.

In two steps he was back into Sam’s space, and the effort it took to kick his legs out from under him was minimal. Dean rolled him onto his stomach again, one knee in the small of his back, and went to work with the knife again.

“I think we’ve established that you’re not _going_ anywhere, Sammy,” he muttered as he sawed through the nylon straps of Sam’s brace.

Handcuffs, he thought to himself. What he really needed here was a set of handcuffs, but he’d make do.

He cut the rest of Sam’s jacket and shirt off, nicking him a couple times in the process, but that’s his own fault for not staying still.

Sam let out a cry of pain when Dean kicked him over again, drawing both wrists in front of his belly and wrapping the nylon around them. Sam fought him, cussing and telling him no and eventually just drawing back and spitting a mouthful of blood straight into his eye. Dean slapped him for that one, straight across the face, hard enough that his ears were probably ringing and his eyes lost a little of their focus. It let Dean get on with his work, in any case. He wasn’t too upset by Sam’s protesting. The kid had always hated bath time, _always,_ even before he could _walk_ he was screaming and wriggling and trying to get out of his bath.

The water was approaching the rim of the tub now and Dean leaned over and shut the water off.

“This reminds me of a joke I heard, once,” he said as he grabbed ahold of Sam’s hair and yanked him to his knees. He shoved him forward, palm against the back of Sam’s bad shoulder, driving him right up against the edge of the tub. “Why’d the farmer fuck his sheep on the edge of a cliff?”

Sam’s eyes widened in the moment before Dean shoved his head under the water. He was smart, he didn’t try to sit back up. Dean’s forearm was across his back like an iron bar, even on a good day he couldn’t fight that. He went to the side, instead, and it might have helped him except Dean saw it coming. His fingers knotted deep in Sam’s hair, holding him under, holding him still.

“So they’d push back harder,” he finished with a grin, watching Sam struggling to escape his grasp.

He let go and Sam surged out of the water with a gasp, his breaths coming deep and desperate. There was still blood on his face. Looking closer, Dean thought maybe his nose was bleeding from the slap earlier.

“So we’re clear?” he asked, dropping to his knees behind Sam and pressing his body along the length of Sam’s back. “On what’s happening here?”

“Dean, n- _no!_ ”

Dean shoved him down again, watching the muscles in his back flex rhythmically as he fought, but he was already weak from the last time and he stilled quicker.

Dean let him up, only partway, holding him bent over with his face only an inch from the bloody water. Sam coughed, struggling to catch his breath. Dean drew the knife again, slicing his way easily up the side of one pant leg. Sam didn’t protest, just stared at the water and tried to breathe deep. Oxygen loading. Smart kid.

In a minute he was naked, and Dean’s fingers were probing absently at the ruffled skin of his ass. Sam’s blush was spreading halfway down his back, and he couldn’t help but let out a choked cry when Dean’s fingertip broached him dry. Dean frowned and shoved Sam’s knees wider. He got a shin up on the back of each calf, which did a pretty good job of holding Sam still.

His right hand was still fisted in Sam’s wet hair, so he spat on his left and used that to slick his cock up. It wasn’t much but it would have to do.

The minute his cockhead pressed against Sam, the kid started struggling for real, trying to force his weight back against Dean and begging him to snap out of it. Dean sighed and shoved his head under the water again, listening to the spastic thump of his bound hands scrabbling against the porcelain.

He grit his teeth as he pushed his way into Sam’s writhing body. It wasn’t as good as he’d hoped. It was tighter than a pussy but _damn,_ was it dry. He ground in deeper and the water muffled Sam’s scream of pain. The pressure gave way and Dean guessed he’d probably torn something.

He let Sam back up out of the water and damn if he wasn’t _crying_ now, short desperate gasps that Dean hadn’t heard since they were kids.

He let Sam catch his breath, rocking slowly into him and loving the way he pushed back when Dean’s weight forced him closer to the water.

Those farmers were really onto something.

“Dean p- _please-_ ”

Dean sighed and shoved Sam back under the water. The way he writhed was _fantastic_. Dean didn’t even need to move. All he needed to do was lean forward and Sam would fuck himself on Dean’s cock as he jerked against the older man’s grasp.

This time Dean held him under longer, loving the way his struggles got weaker and further apart.

Eventually Sam went still and Dean let him up, satisfied with the gasp he got when his face touched air.   
“Stop fighting me, Sam, I want to show you something.”

He let go of Sam’s hair and wrapped it around his throat instead, pulling up and back until Sam was leaning full against Dean’s body.

“Want to know one of the fun side effects of oxygen deprivation, Sammy?” Dean murmured, and Sam only whined in response. He was favoring the side with the bad shoulder and Dean was beginning to suspect he might have a cracked rib or two over there. Dean ignored it and carried on. “Priapism. Back when they used to hang people, they’d string ‘em up and they’d die sporting these massive boners. Sometimes they’d come as they died. Isn’t that fucked up?”

Sam was setting his jaw and staring resolutely upwards at the ceiling, like this would all quit being true if he refused to acknowledge it. Dean jerked his hips forward, burying himself deeper into Sam. Sam whimpered and Dean thought maybe he saw a tear- or maybe water was just dripping out of his hair.

“So back before Viagra, if you couldn’t get it up they’d just choke you out and that’d do the same thing, more or less. What do you think of that, Sammy?”

Dean’s free hand was trailing downwards, through the damp hair of Sam’s belly. Sam tried to cover himself with his hands, to push Dean away, and Dean responded by tightening his grip on Sam’s throat.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growled, and then he was pushing past Sam’s resistance and wrapping his hand around Sam’s hard cock. Sam jerked away from him, which had the unexpected effect of driving him down harder onto Dean’s dick. Sam realized it a second later and pulled away, effectively fucking into Dean’s fist. He whined, way back in his throat, and Dean could actually _feel_ it against his palm. He imagined what it would be like to have his cock buried in Sam’s throat when he did that.

“Think you can come like this, or do you think you’ll need to go back under the water?” Dean considered for a second. “You’re allowed to answer.”

“I can’t, I can- please Dean, I can’t-”

Dean’s hand closed around his throat, and Dean could feel the pulse of his carotid before he squeezed it shut. Sam’s cock jerked in response, hardening under Dean’s hand. fucking his fist as he writhed and _god,_ that was good.

“Yeah, Sammy, just like that, just like that, fuck me just like that-”

Sam’s bound hands were pulling ineffectually against Dean’s grasp, and Dean released him again, loving the way his taut body just _melted_ when he was allowed to breathe at last. His brain would be overloading with endorphins right about now, synapses firing off hard and fast to try to overcompensate for the lack of oxygen.

“I wanna feel you coming, Sammy. Do that for me.” He punctuated the request by heaving his hips upwards, driving deep and drawing pained moans from his brother’s mouth. Sam’s erection didn’t flag, though. Hypoxic priapism.

Dean grinned.

Crowley’s friends were full of unexpectedly interesting information.

Sam’s breath was beginning to even out, though he wasn’t trying to talk and he barely struggled. Dean bit firmly against the crease of his shoulder and that got another pained sob out of him, but that’s all. This was getting boring. Dean was ready to come.

He leaned forward, crowding Sam toward the surface of the water.

“I’m gonna push you under again, Sammy,” he said quietly. His mouth was an inch from Sam’s ear, and he knew damn well the kid was listening. “And I’m not letting you up ‘til you come. You can fight all you want but if I were you? I’d focus on something sexy.”

Sam started to say something and got a mouthful of water for his trouble. Should have taken a deep breath, Dean thought.

It was easy to hold Sam under, even when his motions changed from calculated to involuntary, wrenching his bad shoulder against Dean’s strength and position. He didn’t have a chance of fighting his way out, and it made it that much hotter that he _tried._ Dean picked up his pace, fucking hard into Sam’s resisting body. He kept up the reacharound, too- he wasn’t a _total_ monster.

He could feel it when Sam started getting close. His motions were slowing, weakening, and they’d changed from fighting to simple contraction, all through his abs and calves and his ass- god, the way his ass was _squeezing-_

Dean jerked into him, orgasm whiting out his vision, and it wasn’t until the wave had finished cresting that he realized Sam had come, too, release spilling sticky and wet over Dean’s fingers.

He pulled back; Sam didn’t follow him.

“You dead?” he snapped, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s hair and hauling him back out of the water. Sam didn’t respond. His lips were a faint shade of blue. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Snap out of it,” he ordered, and gave Sam another backhand across the face. Sam coughed. Typical.

The coughing fit lasted long enough for Dean to clean himself up and tuck his dick back into his pants. When it petered off, Sam was lying still on the ground, his breathing even. Dean checked the straps around his wrists- they were secure, they’d hold until he got something better.

He left the tub full. Sam would probably want to wash up once he was awake, and the water was only a little bloody.

There wasn’t a lock on the outside of the bathroom door, but that was okay. There were plenty of other ways to keep a person trapped in the bunker, and Dean had _lots_ of ideas.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My google history now includes phrases like "angel lust" and far too many requests for clarification on how, exactly, oxygen deprivation relates to erections.


End file.
